Forged
by Shembre
Summary: Ariadne has watched Eames forge in dreams, changing his entire identity faster than she can fold Paris in on itself. When Ariadne asks Eames to teach her to forge, however, she finds out it's not about simply disguising yourself. It's not at all, in fact.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: I've wanted to do a story about Eames for while now, so here's a character study-ish story to fill your time with some joy!)**

Forged

By Shembre

_Another day of this hotel, and I'll feel like a goldfish frozen inside her bowl._

Ariadne was about as attached to an empty carton of juice as she was to the brief life she led between jobs, but she groaned when she saw the headline of the newspaper Eames was reading. More snow, it predicted. Arthur was out of the hotel room getting some air that afternoon. Ariadne sat on the opposite end of the brown-toned couch she was sharing with Eames.

"Eames?" Ariadne put down the book she was reading and pulled her knees up to her chest. "How'd you become a forger?"

Eames's eyes scanned his newspaper. "How'd you become an architect?"

"Hours of school and one incredible opportunity—did you have a teacher?"

"Perhaps." Eames turned the page.

"I'd like to learn to forge."

"Oh, really."

Self-consciously, Ariadne played with the paisley, tasseled scarf around her neck. "I'd be more useful if I forged, right? I mean, I can't run around with a gun like you two. Arthur tried to teach me. Cobb tried, too."

Eames lowered the newspaper to his lap and shook his head good-naturedly. "I'd be _more_ than happy to teach you to _properly_ shoot."

Ariadne measured two tassels against each other. "I'm not a Rambo type… But I know how to bend my surroundings like a god, so can you teach me? I'd be good at it, wouldn't—?"

"Being a forger, Ariadne, isn't all about being a god. It's not at all, in fact."

His blunt tone snapped Ariadne to attention. She opened her mouth to ask what he'd meant, but when the room door swung open, Eames sprang to his feet.

"Hey. I found some food." Arthur's coat and scarf were crusted with melting snow. He shut the door while balancing a cardboard holder with three paper cups. There was a damp paper sack in his other hand. Flakes of snow salted his dark hair. "The snow hasn't let up." He walked over to the small, round dining table near the couch where he set down the sack and drinks. When he looked up, he glanced from Eames, to Ariadne, and then back at Eames. He frowned. "What's up with you two?" He pulled off his scarf and soaked boots.

"Nothing." Eames rolled up and stuffed his newspaper under his arm. "I'm not rather hungry. I'll be downstairs in the bar— see where the night takes me." He quickly adjusted the collar on his button-up shirt before he made for the door.

Arthur watched Eames. "Sure that's wise?"

"Yes, quite sure," Eames got out before the door closed behind him.

Arthur shook his head as he placed his wet boots by the room heater. "Okay, I guess," he muttered.

The closed door taunted Ariadne.

_"Being a forger, Ariadne, isn't all about being a god. It's not at all, in fact."_

"Ariadne?"

"Huh?"

"I asked how day three in our hotel was, but maybe I should be asking about Eames?"

"Oh." She watched Arthur pull out two fat rolls from the paper sack. He put down two paper napkins. The bread smelled herby, and she caught the scent of coffee.

"So… What is up with Eames, dare I ask?"

"What's his deal?" Ariadne repeated. She stood up. "I asked him to teach me to forge and he didn't seem to like it."

"Hmm." Arthur pulled out one of the chairs for Ariadne before he sat down. "You want to forge? I mean, it doesn't surprised me."

"Yeah." She walked over and dropped down into her chair. "I changed one of my hands once, y'know," she said as she tore her roll in half. She wriggled the fingers on her right hand. "But that didn't last long. I think I'm missing something. I've tried watching Eames, but he moves too quickly."

"Just keep practicing."

"It would be easier if he taught me…" She paused before looking up at him. "Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Eames said something… odd."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I was comparing being an architect to being a forger, and I said that I can bend my surroundings like a god, and then Eames told me that 'being a forger isn't all about being a god'. He seemed upset. He didn't flat out refuse to teach me, but it was strange."

"Hmmm." Arthur tore into his bread and took a large bite. He chewed while looking down at the crumb-dotted napkin before him. He picked up one of the paper cups and took a drink of his coffee.

Ariadne raised an eyebrow. "Ar-thur? Why would Eames say something like that?"

"Well, he— I think he probably wants to secure the secrets of the trade." He paused for another drink of coffee before setting the cup down and continuing. "Good forgers are in high demand because a bad one can ruin even the best planned job. It's competitive. And Eames is one of the best. He's _the_ best. He's just brushing you off."

Ariadne was unsatisfied by this evasive theory, though it didn't sound totally out there. "So it's like an elitist… thing…?" she replied.

Arthur nodded vaguely as he finished his bread. He then looked in the paper sack and stared hungrily at the contents before he pulled out another roll.

Ariadne grabbed one of the paper cups. She tipped it back and warm coffee rolled over her tongue as she thought. She knew Arthur wasn't telling the whole story. She put her cup back down. "You're wrong. I think there's something going on with Eames. Why else would he say what he did? He's not just some bouncer for an exclusive club."

Arthur looked sidelong, his gaze unfocused. He sighed. "Eames turned this into a challenge when he left the room, didn't he?"

She couldn't lie. "Yes. Now tell me what you really think. I'm not that naïve."

Arthur straightened up in his chair. His tone was more certain and he actually looked at her as he said, "Ariadne, Eames keeps his secrets closer than most people, but you _want_ a forger you can't easily figure out. He's the epitome of a walking contradiction, as a matter of fact. If there's something he doesn't want you to know, and you go looking for it, he will see you coming a mile away."

"Or in other words, don't go after him like I did Cobb," she replied, disappointed.

"Yes."

"So you have no idea what's wrong with Eames?"

"No. Just keep practicing your forging. Leave him to his privacy."

Ariadne slouched in her chair and took a sip of her coffee.

_Yeah, right, Arthur. Like I'll sit by and let Eames keep his 'secrets' to himself._


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur and Ariadne curled up together in Eames's absence that night. They had turned in just after midnight. Ariadne was lying on her stomach with one arm stretched over Arthur's warm, bare chest, her face snuggled into her pillow. When Arthur moved away and got out of bed she groaned. She assumed he was going to the bathroom when she curled up with her legs tucked inside her old t-shirt.

His hand shook her shoulder, and he hissed, "Ariadne wake up."

"Mmmmrrrr…" She raised her head and squinted in the dark. "Huh?" Her hair fell over her eyes. She pushed it away. "Whashappening?"

Arthur stood next to the bed in his sleep shorts, his back ramrod straight and his arms at his sides. He was looking in the direction of the room door. "I heard a noise outside—"

_THUD!_

Ariadne shot up. Chilled blood ran through her chest. She whispered, "Fuck."

Arthur pulled his Glock from beneath his pillow, his arm steady, hand curled around the grip. "Ariadne, get on the ground."

She rolled towards the edge of the bed and dropped into a crouch on the floor. The red, glowing, clock numbers floated above the side table. It was almost three in the morning.

With a smooth, sideways stride, Arthur stepped towards the little hallway that funneled towards the room door. The handle rattled. He was nearly to the door when it burst open. Immediately, Arthur ducked back around the corner on light feet and aimed his gun at the shadowed figure in the doorway. The figured wobbled and stuck his hands up.

"Woah, woah now."

Arthur's aim dropped. "Eames!" he shouted in exasperation.

"Those sh-shorts luuk rather dashing ooon you, Arthur."

"I almost shot you!"

"So I should thank you for sparing my life?" Eames lowered his hands and stumbled into the room.

"Yes," Arthur growled as he shoved past Eames to close the door.

Eames bumped his shoulder into the wall, and nearly fell down. "Bloody hell, where're your manners!"

"Where's yours?" Arthur shot back. He put the safety on his weapon before walking to the bed to slip it back under his pillow. He flipped on the bedside lamp and went to his duffle bag to put on his pants and an undershirt. "You know how we fucking live."

Ariadne squinted and covered her face with her hands against the light. She glanced at Arthur, who kept giving dirty looks to the very, very drunk forger. Ariadne wanted to cry and scold Eames at the same time, the sight was so pitiful. Her body relaxed now that there was no immediate danger. She got off the ground from her crouching position and sat down on the bed.

_Is this where the night led you, Eames?_

"Thanks for waking us up," Arthur snapped. "Hope you at least had fun."

"More or less, darling," Eames slurred, blinking heavily and squinting at him. "Actually, probably more th'n less." He then put his hand over his mouth. His skin went pale. "Excuse me a mom'nt," he said, tromping towards the bathroom.

Ariadne's nose wrinkled at a whiff of cigarette smoke. Sounds of vomiting in the bathroom caused her stomach to hitch. Out of the corner of her eye, Arthur was shaking his head.

This inebriated Eames was a stranger. He'd never acted like this in front of Ariadne. But _Arthur_ recognized _this_ man.

Ariadne got up from the bed. She went to the bathroom doorway and found Eames with his forearms resting along the toilet seat, beads of sweat dotted on his forehead and temples. Snot ran down his lip. Eames coughed and groaned.

Ariadne was looking at someone very weak and human.

"Feeling better?" Arthur asked bitingly from the other room.

"Not especially better, no," Eames called back, his voice shaky and hoarse. Snot and spit dripped down his chin. He reached for the roll of toilet paper by his head, wiped his face, and then blew his nose. He dropped the ball of paper in the toilet and flushed it. A hand smoothed his mussed up hair back into place against his skull.

Arthur came and stood behind Ariadne. "How long are you gonna need the bathroom?"

Eames looked up with an unfocused gaze. "Probbbably for… all night." His hands went around the bowl of the toilet and he rubbed the porcelain. "My friend… the crapper."

"Didn't draw any attention to yourself, did you?"

Eames didn't answer, closing his eyes. He rested his cheek on the toilet seat.

Arthur rested his hand on Ariadne's shoulder, carefully pulled her back, and closed the bathroom door. There was no trace of humor on his face, but the pissed look had diminished into simple irritation.

"I can't wait to get back home. If I'd known, I would've turned down this last job."

Ariadne frowned worriedly and raised an eyebrow. "He's done this before, hasn't he?"

A corner of Arthur's mouth pulled down. "Eames will be Eames, don't worry… I'll check the flights. I heard the weather is going to clear up in a day or two." He dropped his hand from her shoulder and turned.

"That's not what Eames's newspaper said." She followed Arthur across the room and sat down on the edge of their bed. "So, we've got a full-grown man blacking out in the bathroom. Shouldn't we be concerned?"

"He'll sleep it off." He sat down at the table with his laptop.

"Be serious. I've never seen him like this. But _you_ have, haven't you?"

Arthur pulled his laptop open and squinted at the screen.

She rubbed her tired face with both hands before lowering them and gripping the mattress. "'Eames will be _Eames'_? What does _that_ mean? Is he an alcoholic?"

"No." Arthur then shrugged and glanced at her. "It means that he's done this once or twice. Usually right after a job we go our separate ways… so I don't always get the pleasure of seeing him celebrate." His shoulders were hunched.

"So you don't _actually_ know if he's an alcoholic or not." When vomiting sounds echoed from the bathroom, Ariadne closed her eyes. "Getting shitfaced is celebrating? I mean, you see the problem right?"

Arthur turned in his chair, his brows arched. "He's a grown man," he told her calmly. "He makes his own decisions."

Narrowing her eyes, Ariadne stared back at him.

Arthur raised and dropped his hands. "What else do you want to hear, Ariadne?" He yawned and then put a hand on his forehead and his elbow on the table. "This just happens. I do not know why." When he heard more vomiting sounds, he closed his eyes and shook his head. A second later, the toilet flushed.

"I'm gonna check on him." Ariadne stood up and quickly made for the bathroom.

Arthur groaned. "Still no flights…"

Ariadne opened the bathroom door carefully and peeked around it. Eames had propped himself up against the white bathtub. One of his eyes opened, and he squinted in the harsh light, causing the glistening, pale skin around his bloodshot eye and running nose to bunch up.

"So," Ariadne began, slipping into the bathroom, her bare toes curling when they touched the cold tile floor. She left the door open a crack. "How's it going in here…?"

"Stomach's acking beastly, t'say the most—least," he slurred, though he sounded a little less out of it than before. Somehow.

Ariadne pulled the plastic off one of the glass cups on the counter and filled it with cold water in the sink. She passed the forger the cup and he slurped from it. The glass clinked against his teeth.

"That help?"

He grimaced. "Does nothing for this bloody awful taste in my mouth…" He tossed back the rest of the water and handed the glass back for a refill. "Sorry you're in here takin' care of me instead of Arthur. Didn't interrupt anythin', eh, Ariadne?"

Ariadne blushed as water pooled in the bottom of the glass. "We were sleeping. We knew you were coming back."

"Oh, getting caught's half the fun. It would explain Arthur's foul mood."

Ariadne was not surprised he was lucid enough to make lewd remarks. She gave him the cup again. "We're still stuck here until the weather clears up, you know. Arthur is on the computer."

"Arthur's trying to leave already?" Eames frowned and set the cup down on the floor. "Thought we were havin' so much fun together."

She climbed onto the counter and let her legs dangle over the edge. "Could've fooled me." Ariadne then shut the door with her foot and put on what she thought was her most serious face before she turned to Eames.

His smirking eyes went from the door to her face. "Oh, if you've just wanted to get me alone all this—"

"Listen. Why'd you leave the hotel room in such a hurry? Did my request bother you _this_ much?"

"Huh?" He looked dumbfounded for a second before the events of the previous afternoon came back to him. "No… God no… if you think this is on account of _you_… No." He shook his head.

"Was this celebrating then?"

"Celebrating?"

"That's what Arthur thinks this is."

His head lolled back for a second. He was smiling. "Love, a glass of champagne, a pint, a shot, is a celebration… I'm plastered. Were you two really just sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like a real snoooze fest." He blinked slowly.

Ariadne bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. What truly explained Eames's drunken stupor? Should she just leave him to his privacy, like Arthur? Was this spiraling into a bigger problem? Eames was a brilliant forger, and Ariadne's heart clenched at the idea of him throwing his gifts away on booze. And she knew alcoholics didn't keep drinking past the point of social acceptability purely because they thought it equaled a good time.

Ariadne looked up. "Eames, I—"

Eames's chin was resting on his chest. His head rose and lowered with each breath.

_Dammit…_

Feeling defeated, Ariadne slipped out of the bathroom. In the main room, Arthur was sitting on the edge of their bed, his laptop put away. His hands were steepled under his chin and his elbows were resting on his knees.

"He's out," she reported, catching his attention.

"Hmm…" His brown eyes focused and looked up.

Ariadne walked over and sunk down onto the bed opposite. "Is the snow still coming down?"

"Yes, it is. We can't fly or drive out of here, but we can get our own room."

"And Tipsy Tom?"

"Eames can stay here for as long as he needs."

"And that's it?"

Arthur sighed through his nose. "Yes, that's how this works. I mean…" he replied tiredly, "I can't fix someone unless he wants to be fixed. We just go our separate ways until the next job."

At that moment, Ariadne couldn't believe that Arthur and Cobb had trusted each other with their lives.

Arthur's hand appeared on her knee.

He murmured, "Most people are closed, all right? Usually they want to stay that way."

"You said he's done this other times. Have you ever asked him what's wrong? Don't lie this time."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. There was guilt in the nod. "He brushed off the question."

"He'd be open if we hooked him up to the PASIV. Cobb was."

Arthur arched a brow. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "No. I respect the man's privacy."

"Like how you respected Cobb's?"

Arthur's jaw tensed and he stared severely back at Ariadne, who looked down and immediately apologized.

"Sorry… I just wish with Cobb that you'd been more…"

"Devious? And if I'd jumped up and toted the PASIV into the bathroom right now?"

"Partners in crime?"

"No."

She slumped her shoulders.

"It's impossible to save everyone, Ariadne. It's just not possible. You'll wear yourself out. Eames didn't have to go down to the bar and drink however much he did. Cobb didn't have to keep his fears locked up. I might sound unsympathetic, but I'm not here to babysit. I came here to work. Now it's time to go home."

Ariadne's hands clenched. "Well, even if you find a way back to Paris, I'm staying. As long as Eames is here, I'm stay—"

"Ariadne, you're not—"

"_No_. Arthur. I'm staying." Her face flushed as she glared at the point man. She needed his stubbornness like she needed an aneurism. "You know what? Can't you stop being emotionally constipated and help me help Eames? We don't need another Cobb. I have to uncover whatever demons he's got that could potentially destroy him. Why don't you want to help him? If anything happens to him, you're gonna need a new forger, and I think you've invested a lot of time already into this fucking good one. I know you don't get along, but—"

"Eames is more than an investment," Arthur said. His expression was grave and he wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, lacing his fingers together. "I don't know what's wrong with him."

Ariadne was frustrated, but she forced herself to calm down. "So it's not just an 'Eames will be Eames' situation? Do you really care about him as a person? Can you just be straight with me, Arthur? I'm not going to mock you." She stretched out her leg and ran the side of her foot up and down the length of his left leg.

With a sigh through his nose, Arthur admitted, fingers still around the back of his neck, "I do wonder what Eames is bottling up. It reminds me of what happened to Cobb… When Cobb and I first met Saito, as you know, we were extracting from him for Cobol Engineering. We left our architect on the first level while Cobb and I went deeper with Saito. When Mal showed up, I knew the job was a failure; yet, I still had to keep the raft afloat. Cobb tried to deal with Mal, but she squealed to Saito and his security projections and Cobb and I got caught. Mal shot me in the kneecap and Cobb had to shoot me to get me out of there. But, despite that, when we woke up, I blamed the architect for messing up the carpet that Saito realized was wrong. I only asked Cobb if he was okay and remarked that the problem with Mal was getting worse. It was really the wrong time to ask since Cobol was gonna come after us. Cobb brushed me off… you know the rest."

"Are you worried about how bad Eames's demons are?"

Arthur nodded. He gave a heavy sigh. "I guess I'm just tired of having people turn away my help."

"Well… I'm here to help."

Arthur shifted his weight on the bed and straightened up, but he looked away again.

"How might Eames's subconscious react to us?" she asked.

Arthur hesitated. "He's had subconscious training. It could be fine… or it could be a _very_ bad idea."

"It's not like we'd drop into Limbo... right?"

"I'm not sure." Something shifted in Arthur's eyes. "He's got a lot of alcohol in his system."

"Yusef was fine on the plane. It just… rained. Plenty of our marks have been slipped things in their drinks."

"Yes, but Yusef wasn't in a drunken stupor, and the others were buzzed. Eames's system is depressed. He might as well have a heavy sedative running through him already."

Ariadne bit her lip, feeling naïve that she didn't see that to begin with. "I'm starting to see why you didn't go after Cobb like I did."

Arthur's expression shifted again, but he looked as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. "And Eames won't just run 'tests' in the open like he's lying out at the pool."

"If one of us went looking while prepping for a job—"

"No way in hell. He'd never talk to us again."

Ariadne slumped and then laid back on the bed with a little bounce. Her arms fell out to her sides.

"You're limited to talking to him. It's better than nothing if you want to fix him."

Ariadne made a face. "That's not as satisfying… And all I wanted was to learn how to forge… I—" She sat up on her elbows. "What if _we_ go under? Would he respect _your_ privacy?"

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Arthur replied. "He'd suspect a trap—"

Ariadne heard the door squeak behind her and Arthur's face went a shade paler. Ariadne turned. Eames shuffled out of the bathroom. With one hand, he utilized the wall's sturdiness. The man had a grim look on his face. He stared at Arthur.

"Don't put me in the same categury as fucking Cobb." He pointed an accusatory finger. "I'm nothing like him."


	3. Chapter 3

Ariadne's mouth fell open. How long had it been since Arthur had brought up Cobb? She knew Eames had heard them plotting about how to get into his mind.

"Cobb had no excuse for what he did," Eames went on. "The man you call a friend, Arthur, was prepared to let you and everyone else live out the rest of their lives in perpetual damnation in Limbo."

"Why are you acting like this?" Arthur asked. "You're drunk off your ass."

Eames stared back at Arthur as if Eames were a cat deciding how to strike a bird. Then, he let go of the wall. His back fell against the wall and he slid down the length of it, his belt grinding against the drywall. He sat on the ground with his knees up, his face now blank. His arms were in his lap. His hollow, blood-shot eyes stared into space.

"Eames?" Ariadne pressed quietly. "It's okay. We understand that you are not Cobb, okay? We just wanna help. That's all."

Eames scratched the side of his nose.

"You wouldn't have come out of the bathroom if you didn't care what we thought of you." Ariadne turned on the bed and sat cross-legged. She put on a small smile. "Now tell us what's wrong." At first, Ariadne feared that Eames was going to close up, but when he sighed and started to talk, she relaxed and listened.

"There's very little private space left. We go into people's minds—prod them and dig around in their most sacred space. And we do it for pay. We're enabling this to happen to people." He looked away. "And there's lots of people I'd rather kill than work for, but at this point, I think it's a little too late for me to go home and retire on the farm unless it's in a pine box."

Eames nodded to himself then added somberly, "I don't think I know who I am anymore… It's easy to put on another face, pretend you're someone else for a while… Fun, too, sometimes," he admitted. "Like a little vacation."

Ariadne took this in. She swallowed, stunned and saddened.

Eames tilted his head to the side. "Don't you give me those puppy eyes."

Ariadne looked down. "Sorry. It's just… I guess I never gave much thought about what you do. Really thought about it."

Arthur cleared his throat. His tone was monotonous. "Guess I haven't really, eith—"

"You knew something was wrong," Eames interrupted. "I see it in your eyes when we get the _extra_ _spectacular_ jobs. You don't want to give me the jobs, but you do anyway."

Arthur got up from the bed and walked over to Eames. "You don't have to take those jobs anymore. I'll turn them away." He then stuck out his hand and waited for Eames to take it.

"Boy, did you think up that just now?" Eames didn't move. His voice was quiet. "You're going to pass up the money?"

"I don't do this for the money."

"So you do it for your personal enjoyment? Now that is sadistic."

"Sadistic?" Arthur retorted. "I've asked and you've never told me what was wrong. I asked Cobb, and he never told me what was wrong."

Eames looked down, but the anger didn't leave his face. "This wouldn't have come up if it weren't for Ariadne. We'd be in Limbo if not for Ariadne. You're a coward."

Arthur snorted and retracted his hand. His fingers curled into a fist. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

"What matters is that it _has_ been brought up," Ariadne quickly reasoned. The heavy tension in the small room settled on her shoulders as she watched the Point Man and the Forger stare each other down. She didn't want this to come to blows. "This job— it doesn't bring out the best in everyone. You do learn things you would rather not know. We do things we'd rather not. And sure, you two treat each other like shit—"

The men halfway turned their attention onto her.

"— but you wouldn't keep working together if it was that bad… right?"

Eames and Arthur went back to glaring at each other.

_Is all of this coming too late?_ Ariadne swallowed hard. She then asked, "Why do you hide, Eames? You said forging is like a 'little vacation'."

Breaking away his glare and staring into space, Eames replied plainly, "I hide because I _don't_ know who I _am_. What I stand for." He looked exhausted and the rims of his eyes were pink. "I want to be more… than a thief."

"Eames, you're not just a thief."

"Take away the PASIV, Ariadne, and that's what I am… You must think I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic or a bad person. Why do you still forge?"

"Because I can't imagine not doing it."

_Like the rest of us,_ Ariadne thought.

With a sigh, Arthur bent over and grabbed Eames by the elbow.

"Hey!" Eames struggled, but gave up after a moment.

Arthur pulled him to his feet and made him sit down on the bed where Ariadne was sitting. "I know who you are," Arthur began calmly. "You're stubborn, intuitive, and difficult, and you're a cocky trickster… You irritate the hell out of me—it's a talent—but you're hardly ever wrong about anything. You're the best forger I have ever met. You treat our marks with respect even when they don't deserve it."

Eames looked up. He raised a brow and muttered, "I didn't say stop."

Arthur smirked. "You know your limits, but you go above and beyond what you don't have to do. I'm sorry, Eames, for not trying harder to reach out to you. I… I couldn't."

"No, no, it was my fault. Should have sacked up and told you when you asked. But, we're both human, and I'd have to guess that's our problem."

Ariadne smiled. When she blinked, she thought she would open her eyes again and find out that she'd been dreaming. But when she looked, Arthur and Eames were really speaking.

Eames sighed and looked around groggily. "Well, enough sappy talk. I am ready to turn in for the morning. What is it, midnight?"

"It's almost four AM," Arthur reported.

Eames clumsily kicked off his shoes with his toes before he swung his socked feet onto the made up bed. He laid back and closed his eyes with his fingers laced over his chest.

"Good night, Eames," Ariadne said, touching his knee for a moment.

He cracked a lid. "Good night." He smiled and then closed his eye again.

Ariadne and Arthur went to the other bed. All the adrenaline was leaving Ariadne's body, and she could feel the heft of her eyelids as she crawled over to her side.

Arthur switched off the lights and got under the blankets with Ariadne. She moved into his arms and he rested his chin on her head.

He whispered into her ear, "Thank you."

She knew Eames wasn't going to wrestle with all of his inner demons in one night, but at least he had help now if he wanted it. And Arthur wasn't going to overcome his habit of leaving people to themselves all at once, but she hoped he would be more forward in the future.

"No problem," she whispered back.

_I guess I didn't need the PASIV after all._

Three days later, the weather and Eames's mind both seemed to have cleared. Although Eames still held onto his secrets when he sobered up, Ariadne knew his fears weren't just a gift-wrapped present that she could tear into. She and Arthur joined him when he went to drink in the bar, and they didn't harass him to give up every detail immediately. Eames did at least seem happier.

Ariadne was heading back to Paris with Arthur, while Eames was waiting to board a flight to Australia. The forger's flight was departing first, and they were waiting with him.

"I think I might surf." Eames rocked on his heels for a moment. "Haven't done that before. Or I might give snorkeling a try."

Arthur snorted. "You? Snorkeling?

"Yes. There are some very beautiful fish there, Arthur."

Ariadne giggled behind her hand.

"Oh, I'm sure there's lots of fish, Eames," Arthur said.

"And kangaroos," Ariadne added.

The woman at the gate came over the intercom and announced that first class was boarding.

Eames hefted his carryon. "That's me." He turned to Arthur and Ariadne and shook their hands. "Maybe next time you'll see me at my finest rather than my worst."

"Take care, Eames," Ariadne said as he shook her hand. "Call if you need anything. Anything at all."

The forger smiled and let her hand go. He turned away and took several steps before he turned around. "Oh, and Ariadne…? Were you still interested in those lessons?"

"Lessons?" Ariadne blinked in surprise.

"Yes."

"You're sure? R-really?"

The forger nodded. "Really."

"Of course!" She walked forward to hug him in her excitement, but she stopped herself. "I mean…" She tried to look professional, and instead shook his hand again. "Are you sure I'm up for the pressures of forging?"

He nodded. "I think if anyone is, it's you."

"Thank you for the opportunity." She grinned wide.

Eames held her hand "We'll be unstoppable." He then let his arm fall to his side as he winked, turned, and walked towards his gate to board his flight.

Arthur came up behind her and hugged her around the waist. They watched until the forger disappeared through the gate. "I wonder what changed his mind?"

They strolled towards the waiting area by their gate on the other side of the airport. Ariadne smiled.

"I'm not sure," she said, "but maybe he doesn't want to be a lone forger anymore? He's human like us, right?"


End file.
